Queasy

I've been feeling vaguely guilty for not writing anything here for awhile.

On the other hand, having had some of this writing quoted back to me by my friend recently I may also be suffering from "writers block" or "bloggers remorse". I think probably the latter since, although I write, do I Write? Insert Mike Moore style thoughtful pause and "mmm" here. Indeed.



Also I am hungover and tired from my excellence yesterday which involved me catching one train to Flemington only to be brutally rebuffed by an attendent there (you want me to pay $50 to go and hang out by the drainage point at the back of the carpark?! For Realz?!) and hopping back on that train and going all the way back to Flinders St and trying again with a different train. I also spent a fair portion of that journey staring out the window and thinking "is it really worth it?" (but not in a satre type of way, natch).

In terms of returns for bets, well, no it wasn't. In terms of hilarity and chances to tell my friend how dreadful his prostate-supporting facial hair was, then yes definately.

The day concluded with a moderately-well behaved dinner with Spakattak, Gynger and Tone Loc (yes, the one and only TL) until TL started waving the knickers of gossip around and then snatching them back like some sort of demure little virgin all, 'nooo, I can't tell you that, you're a sieve!'



This irritated me greatly since how is one meant to assert that one is actually a Vault about certain things without confirming to the worst stereotypes of the accusers? Bah!!